


Kilt

by the_noble_bachelorette84



Category: David Tennant - Fandom, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, cinema, kilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_noble_bachelorette84/pseuds/the_noble_bachelorette84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place in an alternate timeline in which Georgia Moffatt never met David Tennant, but instead, it was you who got that fateful role that prompted his marriage. To you, not her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kilt

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best to research Scottish kilts and their various accessories. I hope I am accurate! (My Scottish friends, which I would consider any Scottish person, who are reading this, feel free to call me out on errors! I would be happy to edit!) I have included an image borrowed from listal.com. It is not my image, and is used only as a reference to save readers from having to do research before they read. (Also, googling "David Tennant Kilt" can be like getting sucked into a black hole...it's great, though!)

 

Your marriage to David has been everything you could hope for. Not perfect, perhaps, but by far the best relationship you've ever been in. You're blissful just being around him. You haven’t decided to have kids yet, because you’re both too focused on the other, and you’re not ready to bring a child into the mix. However, you both hope, one day, to be parents. Maybe even soon. But right now, you’re just going on a rare date night. They’re rare because you love spending time together, at home. Mostly naked, but entirely just in each other’s company. Dinner and a movie is the thing. You’re currently living in a small city near where you grew up. It’s rural, and not many people know what Doctor Who is, let alone the fact that your husband was once the title character. And with his current stubble, bordering on beardedness, you even dodge the kids and teens recognizing him from his small role as Barty Crouch in the fourth Harry Potter film. This was nice. You could be regular people. You could go out with minimal fuss.

You decided to get dressed up this evening. Your best, almost red-carpet ready duds. You’re in a black cocktail dress that is adorned with a swirled, almost floral pattern in sequins all over it. It has black beading at the neckline, like a cowl, so you opt for no necklace, but chose a pair of black statement earrings and a matching costume cuff on one wrist. And your wedding ring, of course. You’re wearing classy, black, seamed thigh-high stockings, and the Louboutins he surprised you with for your birthday this year. (The classic black stiletto with red soles. They were the focus of many a steamy night after their bestowment.) A small red clutch in your hand provides a striking contrast with the rest of the ensemble with the exception of the shoe detail, which it matches perfectly. You finish putting on your makeup, which is subdued with the exception of your lips, the same fire engine red as your clutch. You find that you really look quite nice, something that you never see, and, satisfied, leave the room.

You enter the master bedroom off that bathroom and notice your husband there adjusting the chain on his sporran (Gaelic word for “purse”) so that it hung right in the center of his kilt. You were fascinated by his culture and were ever his student on the subject. And it didn’t hurt that he looked downright delectable in this attire. Maybe a night in was what you needed after all. No, best not. You’d become hermits at this rate, but you though, with David by your side, who else mattered?

"Well, don't you look ready for the Highland Games!" You didn't know what it was about this ensemble, but it just made you weak every time you saw him in it. You loved that he embraced his heritage, and got a kick out of the sideways glances he got when he wore a kilt in public. You didn't care what anyone said, it took a secure man to wear what many would call a skirt around people!

He looked at you and his eyes widened! He loved those shoes on you, and combined with the shortish length of your dress, your legs looked a mile long.

"You look beautiful, darling!" He meant it. It wasn't meant to be a nicety. He looked through you, his eyes boring all the way to the wall behind you, but in a way that made you feel desired. Wanted. Needed, even. He looked at you from under the hood of his perfect eyebrows, one raised a bit more than the other, and that damned boyish grin that just made you feel like a teenager in love for the first time. He padded over to you, his ghillies making his footfalls much softer than normal, never breaking his gaze. You felt yourself warming in anticipation of his touch, even the most chaste of which left you close to ecstasy. He wound his hand around your waist and pulled you firmly up into him. Your toes were just barely touching the floor, your body secure in his grip. His eyes bounced from your lips to your eyes, diverting occasionally to your hair.

"In fact, I would say that you look absolutely…delicious." He paused to lick his lips before finishing the sentence. He honed in on your painted lips and pressed his own to them, gently at first, then fiercely, and relentlessly. His one hand, firmly grasping the nape of your neck, tugged lightly on your hair, while the other pulled you closer into what you were sure was not all sporran! His need was apparent even under the accessory! You moaned into his mouth, spurring him on. He allowed you to support your weight and readjusted his hands so they could reach under your skirt. He reached his destination much more easily than anticipated.

"Seems I'm not the only one who's going 'true Scotsman' tonight!"

"I didn't want you to feel alone in the act, so, there you have it!"

"There you do! Come on, dear! Let's get out of here before I do something that keeps us at home all night!"

He took your hand and pulled you out of the bedroom and the house.

The car ride was excruciating. You drove, and David sat in the passenger seat, legs apart, the hem of his kilt resting several inches above his knee. He was doing this shit on purpose! He had to be! He was! In his seat, and every few miles, he would inch it up further and further. It was dangerously distracting, actually. You were lucky the roads were abnormally traffic-free. Soon, he had worked it high enough that you could see two or three of his "Ten Inches!" Ugh, if you were on your way to a premiere, you'd be in the back of the limo with your mouth around his cock right now. Damn, why couldn't he at least have a permit to drive here as a non-citizen! You'd at least be able to touch yourself, relieve some of the frustration. But no. You were as wet as he was hard and nothing could be done. Mercifully, you pulled into the cinema parking lot. There were very few cars there, so they must be having a slow night. You park the car, unbuckle your seatbelt, and leap over the console, mauling him with your mouth and grasping his turgid length with your hand. He's taken aback, but you can't fathom why. Surely he knew how aroused you were! Could probably smell it on you. He backed you off, with some difficulty, and a wet "pop" from your mouths.

 "Babe, let's go inside, huh? You don't really wanna make out in a parked car like teenagers, do you?" he said with coy amusement in his endless, brown eyes

"No, I don't. I want to make out with you…among other things…in a darkened movie theater like teenagers."

You dashed into the lobby of the cinema, requested tickets to the least inhabited show, and a large drink to share, then made your way hastily into the appropriate screen. The opening titles were already rolling. One other couple were in the middle two seats about halfway down. You opted for seats at the back. This particular cinema had special seats with armrest that folded back. They were advertised as seats to accommodate the handicapped or the overweight, but everyone knew their true purpose. They folded back so that people could sit closer and make out. David put the armrest between you up and you nestled in right next to him, your bodies fitting next to each other so perfectly, as if molded for that exact purpose.

The plot of the film was ludicrous. You didn't even know the name, but you were sure people who did would be wishing they could forget it. The people in front of you certainly would be among them. They walked out thirty minutes after you arrived.

You waited…but only a moment, to work your hand up the inside of David's bare thigh, moving your hand closer to his erect manhood. He was ready for you. You stroked him slowly, firmly, and you heard him draw pleased breaths in synchronization with your strokes. You knew he liked the little noises you made, so you sighed, and groaned, and moaned as close to his ear as you could manage comfortably. He whispered your name as you sped up. You knew he was getting close, so you kept up your handiwork, but put his tip in your mouth, not only for pleasure, but practicality. (You certainly didn't want the poor cinema staff to have to clean up a mess!) He stiffened and thrust up into your throat. You took him in to the hilt and he came down your throat, your name a prayer on his lips. You drank him in thirstily for a moment, and then withdrew, licking your lips. He pulled you to his mouth, and invaded yours with his lithe, nimble, exuberant tongue. His hands were all over your body, eager to reciprocate your deed. His touch to your inner thigh was feather light, and almost imperceptible were it not for the electrical charge his proximity always sent through you.

He teased you with his fingers, just grazing your slit. You're breath caught as he kissed your neck, sucking and licking, nibbling the tender, smooth skin. You were so wet for him. You needed him to fuck you, but you were sure he wouldn't go that far here. There were limits, after all. He would wait until you got home, but that didn't mean he couldn't make you come right here. He moved his mouth to your ear. He licked the shell and moaned as his finger dipped into your dripping cunt. "I love how wet you are for me darling. I wish I could fuck you right now. Feel you around my cock. But this will have to do until we get home." He found your G-spot quickly, making you gasp again, stroking it with torturous, languid passes. You were dizzy. What was your name? You couldn't have said.

You whimpered as he added a second finger. "Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you when we get home?"

"Tell, me, David! Please!" you pleaded. You needed to know.

"Oh, I'll tell you, alright. We're gonna go immediately to the bedroom. You're gonna sit on the edge of the bed and I'm going to pull this traffic hazard of a dress off of you. I'm gonna lay you back onto the bed and kiss and nibble your lips, neck, and breasts before I settle in between your legs."

He whispered in your ear fervent, lust-coated syllables. Your breaths came more quickly now.

"I can't wait to devour your juicy cunt. I'll suck on your lips and clit until you can't see straight and finger fuck you until you can't say anything but my name. And you're gonna say it so loud, the neighbors are gonna know the kind of fucking you're getting. Then I'm gonna lick you clean and start all over again until you're wet enough for my cock. I'm gonna hold your wrists above your head with one hand, thumb your clit with the other, and stifle your screams with my mouth. You're gonna lock your ankles together behind my back while I pound into you."

You were so close. He added his thumb on your clit in tandem with the fingers inside you. His filthy words never taming your arousal.

"Do you know what I'm gonna do next?" He knew you knew, but you definitely wanted him to say it. To continue the dirty talk. To get you off.

"What are you going to do, David? Oh, God, tell me! Please!"

"Since you asked so very nicely, I'll tell you. I'm going to come inside that wet little pussy. I'm gonna spill every drop I have into that pretty little cunt of yours. And that's what's gonna make you come. And as you do, you're gonna look at me and say one thing. My name. My name will come off your lips in synch with your muscles contracting around my cock."

And as if he was speaking your climax into existence, you came hard around his fingers, clenching them, begging the air to fill your lungs. As you came down slowly from ecstasy, he withdrew his hand and slipped his index finger into his mouth.

"Mmm, you are delicious darling. Would you like a sample?" he pulled it out and grinned cheekily as you nodded. He slipped his middle finger into your mouth and you sucked it deeply, cleaning your flavor completely from his skin. He seemed to like it, probably because he was imagining your mouth and tongue performing those same deeds on another appendage.

"Wanna get outta here?"

"More than you know!" You answer. And you jump from your seats, abandoning your barely touched beverage and bolting for the door, ready to make reality the promises he'd made. You hardly watched any of the film, but it was still money well spent.


End file.
